


The Lonely Elf

by daughterofdurinanddestiel



Series: Middle Earth Reborn [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Amused Gandalf, Archery, Bottom Thranduil, Elves, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gandalf Meddles, Immortality, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reincarnation, Smitten Bard, Smut, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil is lonely, Top Bard, Weaponry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofdurinanddestiel/pseuds/daughterofdurinanddestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil has lived an additional three thousand years since Bard died. He knows humans can be reincarnated, and he is stunned when he finally sees Bard again. But how.cam Thranduil tell Bard about his past life, as Gandalf says he must, without making him think he's mad?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lonely Elf

**Author's Note:**

> First part in a three-part series. Next is Fili/Kili, followed by Bilbo/Thorin.

It could have been a million years, or it could have been a hundred, a mere blink really, but Elvenking Thranduil would always remember the last time he had seen he beloved.  
He had had two loves in his life, his wife who died in battle in the Second Age of Middle Earth, and Bard the Bowman who also died nobly, defending the city of Dale against Sauron's army, who had been running wild before a halfling named Baggins (a relation to that damned Hobbit who stole food and drink from Mirkwood to feed himself and those detestable Dwarves) had destroyed the last Ring of Power. He knew that in six thousand years of life he would have loss and heartache, but he had not suspected it twice in less than five hundred years.  
He had a son whom he hadn't seen since after the boy had his own heart broken, by a king of Men who picked a different Elf over him. Legolas had left for distant lands with Gimli, a Dwarf. Thranduil had never seen him since.  
He hadn't expected to live this long. His kinsmen had mostly passed away or died in battle. The only other Elf he thought might still be alive was Galadriel, but they had never been on speaking terms. And, of course, that meddling fool Mithrandir was alive. He visited often, too often for Thranduil's liking. But he was savvy, Thranduil would give him that. When Mirkwood was destroyed, the old Wizard had assisted him and his people in finding new residence. He still helped Thranduil adapt to modern life in London.  
In this day and age, looking like a supermodel wasn't unusual. Who cared if humans thought that he wore a stunning wig and constantly asked him who did his skin, nose, chin, Botox, and eyebrows? It wasn't his problem if the world wasn't ready for a person to look this good naturally.  
He was musing over this as he sat in a coffee shop, conducting an online business meeting via Wi-Fi. He was a wealthy proprietor, owning land all over the UK, business and residential.  
Mithrandir, who now went by a more modern moniker Grady Grey to humans, was telling him that his open property down the street from the coffee shop had been rented and he was forwarding him the signed lease.  
Thranduil was pleasantly surprised that the store was called Lake's Weaponry. It specialized in archery amd swordplay, even offered lessons in both. The owner's name was Brandon Lake. He made a mental note to give it a look. It had been too long since he'd last held a weapon in his hands.

It took him longer than he'd have liked to go and see Lake's Weaponry, and he only went because Mithrandir insisted. That man is like a dog with a bone, he thought, donning his favorite silky duster (it's like a long jacket and the closest thing he could find to his old robes) and boots before taking a taxi into the city.  
The outside of Lake's Weaponry was impressive, done up like an old-fashioned house, similar to the way Lake-Town had been rebuilt after the Battle of the Five Armies. It was crowded, and it looked like a class was just ending. Thranduil could've sworn he heard someone call, "See you next week, Bard", but he must've been hearing things. Nine thousand was awfully old, even for an Elf, and maybe he was losing his mind a little.  
"Hello?" he called when he walked into the now empty store. He didn't see a worker. "Anybody home? I'm Mr. Greenleaf, your landlord?"  
"One second. Sorry. Just putting some plaster on a wall back here. Some people really can't aim to save their lives," a male voice called. "I need to put padding everywhere back here soon." His voice got closer till Thranduil could see his new tenant. Tall, almost as tall as he was, lean, muscled, wearing earth tones, with tanned skin, stubble, dark eyes and long curls was Brandon Lake. He was also the spitting image of King Bard, his lost love.  
"Hello, Mr. Greenleaf. Nice to meet you at last." He held out his hand for a shake, and the touch set Thranduil's nerves on edge. It was Bard. In no way was this feeling a coincidence.  
"Please, call me Thranduil. A pleasure, Mr. Lake." Making his voice normal was a difficult task. His heart was practically in his chest. In three thousand years, he'd never seen Bard reincarnated, no matter how hard he looked. Eventually, he'd stopped looking.  
"You can call me Bard," the man said. "I always liked it better than Brandon."  
"So do I," Thranduil said, ignoring the strange emotions that were arising in his breast. He didn't mean for his voice to come out so throaty, but between his nerves and his attraction, he had no control over it.  
Bard had been single for a while now, and he had to admit, his landlord was sex personified. His touch was literally electric, and sent pleasant shivers down his spine, sending his blood to one particular point in his anatomy. He hoped the striking blonde didn't notice. But those butterflies were stirred up by that voice, those striking eyes and that smirk. He hadn't felt like this since he was a teenager!  
"It looks like you've got a great place here," Thranduil commented. "What was that crowd I saw leaving?"  
"One of my archery classes. I host that and swordplay every week," Bard said proudly. "Do you know anything about archery?"  
Thranduil wanted to say that Elves invented archery, but held his tongue. "I have practiced it all my life. I'm very pleased that this is the type of store you opened."  
"Well, with the Hunger Games stuff all over the place, and that Green Arrow TV show, everyone has a newfound interest in the sport," Bard said, gently caressing a particularly nice bow that was mounted on the wall. "So, want to prove yourself?" What the Hell am I thinking?  
"Pardon me?" Thranduil asked, unable to keep the amused smirk from his face.  
"You said you practiced archery all your life. Are you prepared to prove it to me?" Bard leaned against the checkout desk, obviously knowing how sexy he looked.  
"Anytime, anywhere." Thranduil stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell his distinctive earthy scent.  
Bard could smell Thranduil as well, sweat and fresh, like flowers. "Sunday, three in the afternoon? My class ends then and the shop closes early."  
"Deal." Thranduil grinned, caught up in memories and excitement.  
"You better be as good as you say, Thranduil. I like a challenge." Bard had the audacity to wink! He was a naturally forward and honest man who always spoke his mind. He had no proof that Thranduil was gay, but he would put money on it for sure. No one looked at another person the way Thranduil looked at him without wanting to see their birthday suits!  
Thranduil felt his heartbeat speed up, a sensation that had eluded him for three thousand years. He was glad for the long coat: he was as hard as marble beneath his well-tailored trousers.  
"It's a date...Bard." Tipping his head, Thranduil left the shop. It wasn't until he had rounded the corner that he let himself sink onto the nearest bench, his legs refusing to carry his weight anymore. The shock was starting to set in rapidly.  
Bard. His Bard. Back to life, reincarnated as he knew him. He was very different, of course. He was younger (mid-thirties), not widowed (and hopefully not married, either) and had no children. He didn't run a town, nor did he have the trials of war weighing on his mind. He was the wonderful man Thranduil had known, but without the burden of emotional baggage.  
Thranduil was fortunate that he had a wonderful poker face, because he could feel his awe, surprise and lust bubbling like a cauldron. That damned Mithrandir! The wizard knew it was Bard all along and hadn't warned him! Gandalf had been the one to tell him, when Bard died, that some creatures could be reincarnated: Dwarves, Hobbits and Men. Elves, he said, were already gifted with abnormally long lives, and weren't granted that privilege. But it meant that he and Bard could be together again one day. It had buoyed Thranduil's heart for years, but he'd never held any real hope for it to happen.  
Now that it did--and he'd already agreed to a date with the man--he wasn't sure what was happening. All he knew was that he needed to talk to that meddling bastard...NOW!  
Like magic, there he appeared. His hair and beard were cut short so people wouldn't think he was a hobo...or a member of ZZ Top...and he wore a tailored suit, but he was still the same mischievous Istari as he always was.  
"I take it you met Mr. Lake," he said with a chuckle.  
"You son of a bitch!" Thranduil said, pleased with Men's advances in insults. "Did you not think that I would like some warning before I go and see the man I love for the first time in millennia? You sent me in there blind!"  
Gandalf chuckled. "If I had sent you in there prepared, you would've either made him think you were mad, or a made complete ass of yourself. This way was better; organic."  
"You're pleased with yourself, aren't you?" Thranduil began to pace. "I need preparation. Whether it be Dwarves in my kingdom or gorgeous Men in my backyard, I need to know what's going on." He stopped, running a hand through his long, peroxide blonde hair. "And how do I tell him about everything? How, after all this time, do I make him believe me?"  
Gandalf placed a gnarled hand in front of the Elf, stopping him from pacing again. "It will happen. Gradually. Like it's meant to. No one is brought back without a reason. You are his reason. And what happened to the arrogant king I once knew? Since when did you start second guessing yourself? Snap back into the jerk everyone hated and take control!"  
As Thranduil was about to respond, Gandalf vanished. "Wizards. Why am I stuck with the only remaining one? Damn the lot of them!"

Sunday arrived, and the once haughty king (and still haughty businessman) was a walking pile of nerves. What did he wear? What would they talk about? How long could he keep his hands off of Bard? Did Bard regret asking him out?  
But he had no time left for worry: he needed to dress, take out his old equipment and get to Bard's shop on time. A king is never late, no matter how long his kingdom has been dead!  
Bard was prepping in the mirror while he waited for Thranduil's arrival. He wasn't a vain man, but he had a desire to make a good presentation, especially since Thranduil seemed to care deeply about his own personal appearance.  
He hadn't heard the bells ring at the front door, but he heard that lovely, lilting voice call his name. Damn. He was not prepared for this. He didn't know why he had such a sudden and deep attraction to his landlord, but he did. It was like a revelation when he saw him the previous day. Like a gravitational pull between them.  
He went to greet Thranduil, who actually had brought his own archery gear with him. It looked like he was serious about the sport.  
"I'm glad you came," Bard said.  
Thranduil gave a playful bow. "I wouldn't have missed it."  
"You brought your own bow? Impressive. Can I see?" Bard asked.  
Thranduil had always been careful with his weapons, but handed his prized bow over without even a thought.  
Bard traced the leaf patterns, looked at the strange language carved into its ivory surface. "Did this bow have a mate? One made with it?"  
Thranduil's heart leaped. "Yes. It did. Why?"  
Bard reached into a locked case and drew out a bow...the mate to his own. He'd given it to Bard as a courting gift. It had been lost in battle when Bard died.  
"Mr. Grey, your attorney, gave this to me. He said it belonged to me. Does it really, or did he make a mistake? I don't want to keep it if it is supposed to be yours." Bard looked worried, as if he'd done something wrong.  
Thranduil heard his breath catch. "No, no. It's yours, Bard. It was always supposed to be yours."  
Bard wondered why this composed man suddenly sounded so emotional. "Is it a set, with yours? If it is, how could it belong to me?"  
"It's a long story. I will tell you one day, when we are better acquainted," the Elf said with a small smile. "Now, shall we get to it? I'm eager to test your skills, Bowman."  
Bard grinned and led him to the vast practice room. It was set up wonderfully, targets everywhere, padding on most of the walls and even an obstacle course.  
"How on Earth did you get a hole in the ceiling?" Thranduil asked.  
"Don't worry, I'll pay to fix it," Bard assured him. "I had some actors in the other day, learning archery for a movie. Let's just say one actor in particular needs to stick with swords!"  
Thranduil laughed. "At least it wasn't you who has bad aim."  
"Oh no," Bard practically purred. "I have excellent aim."  
The two men proceeded to show off for the other, performing shots while on the move, doing the different obstacle courses and generally preening like peacocks. It was Bard who made the first blunder. He had been watching Thranduil's reaction to his work rather than watching where he put his feet when he tripped, landing on a cushioned piece of the course. He reclined there, grinning while embarrassed.  
Thranduil wasted no time, getting to one knee for balance and leaning over the man, bracing himself on an arm.  
"You've got to keep your eyes on what's important, Bard," he said.  
"They are," Bard replied, tugging on Thranduil's collar and kissing him.  
Those lips, they were just as he remembered: strong, weather-beaten and sweet. His stubble still scraped his sensitive, hairless Elf face obscenely. He took more control in this life than he had before, weaving a strong hand in Thranduil's cornsilk hair and pulling him down. Thranduil let himself fall on top of Bard, the only thing separating their bodies their clothing. He held Bard's face in his hands, tilting the man's head at a better angle so he could slip his tongue into his mouth.  
Bard was having a hard time keeping it together. Thranduil was a master at kissing, his tongue could be used as a weapon. Then his strong, soft hands left Bard's face and went to the edge of his dark brown shirt, going underneath and feeling the taut muscles lightly covered with dark hair. His hands were cold, but gentle, in contrast to his rough kisses.  
"I can't wait," Bard said, breaking the kiss. "Think what you will of me, but if I don't have you now, I'll lose my fucking mind."  
Thranduil bit his neck, impatient. "Then you shall have me," he said, his breath hot. He tore the shirt from Bard's body, surprising the human with his strength. Bard unbuttoned Thranduil's pale green dress shirt, his eyes hovering over the smooth, ivory flesh. He had never seen a man so physically perfect, yet he felt that he had been here before, in Thranduil's carnal embrace, but he couldn't remember it.  
Thranduil went to unbuckle his belt. He could see Bard's need through the fabric of his jeans, and wished to alleviate it. He wished he could snap his fingers and have them both naked, but only Wizards had that sort of power.  
"My coat, on the back of the chair in the office," Bard said, "there's a tube in the inside pocket."  
Thranduil went and retrieved it (in the windows, Bard's state of undress might have frightened those on the street) and when he returned to the back room he said, "You always carry salve around with you, Mr. Lake?"  
"No, but I had high hopes for today," he replied, walking on his knees to where the Elf was standing. His hands deftly tugged the silken trousers down to his ankles, revealing his body, which might have been carved from pure white marble, it was so hard and flawless. His cock was large and jutted almost painfully from his hips.  
Bard wasted no time in swallowing it, sucking it into his warm mouth. Thranduil sighed, closing his eyes in pleasure. His hands went to Bard's soft culrs, holding his head in place as he began to slowly fuck his throat. It had been so long since he'd felt these sensations, since he'd had his Bowman like this. But he pulled out of the warmth of Bard's mouth, as he was not ready to come yet.  
"To your feet," he ordered gruffly. Bard wasn't one for taking orders, but he did as he was told. Thranduil kissed him, tasting himself on Bard's lips. Bard began rubbing his erection on Thranduil's hip and he grabbed it in his hand, roughly stroking it.  
"Put these cushions to good use, shall we?" Bard asked, his lips nipping Thranduil's neck.  
They both leaned down on the padding, Bard taking the lube (how old-fashioned of Thranduil to call it salve, he thought) and coating his fingers with it. The lithe Elf leaned over the cushion, and immediately Bard had a finger inside of him, stretching him for the first time in many centuries. He moved it in and out before adding a second finger. Thranduil was unable to keep the moan from escaping.  
"Keep going," he ordered.  
Leaning over him so that his lips were level with his ear, Bard asked, "Are you always this bossy in bed?" After that he gave another hard thrust with his long fingers, making Thranduil momentarily unable to respond.  
"Ah... No. When I get you in my bed, I'll be much worse."  
Bard laughed, a most beautiful sound to Thranduil, who had last heard him saying goodbye before battle so long ago. To know that Bard was alive and laughing again warmed his cold heart. "Well, you're on my turf now, Mr. Greenleaf," Bard whispered. "Which means that you're mine to do with as I please."  
Bard pulled his fingers out, and Thranduil heard the tube being clicked open again right before he felt Bard's tip pressing against his opening. Thranduil sucked in his breath, preparing his body for what he hadn't had in so long.  
The pain was sharp as Bard pushed himself in, roughly grasping Thranduil's thin hips as he did so. Bard was rewarded with his lover's deep groan. Bard moved haphazardly at first, but he quickly fell into a steady, fast rhythm with his lean hips gyrating obscenely against Thranduil's bottom every time he went all the way inside.  
Thranduil braced himself against the padding and began to move with Bard, rocking backwards into his thrusts, urging him to go faster. After three thousand years, he didn't want to keep things slow.  
Just as he was wishing he had a free hand to touch himself, Bard let one side of his hip go, wrapping one arm around Thranduil's waist and reaching the other around to grab Thranduil's throbbing cock. Bard worked him hard and fast, alternating with his thrusts inside.  
He pushed in harder, hitting Thranduil's sweet spot and making him cry aloud. "That's it. Fuck, you're beautiful right now," Bard complemented. He loved having this man that so many people had described as cold and unfeeling coming undone beneath him, because of him.  
Squeezing his hand, twisting it around Thranduil, he sped up, unable to contain his imminent release. The only sounds in the room were their mingled moans and flesh slapping against flesh. Bard came hard inside of him, squeezing his cock as he did so.  
Thranduil cried out and came as well, Bard's name on his lips. He covered himself and Bard's hand with his seed, while he felt Bard's own release deep inside of him.  
Bard held them both where they were for a moment, riding the wave of elation and exhaustion that passed through him. Slowly, he pulled his now soft dick out of Thranduil with an obscene wet sound, lube and come slowly leaking from his stretched hole.  
They both leaned back against the padding, amd Thranduil immediately curled against Bard like a cat, his head tucked beneath his chin and his arm around his waist. Bard held him close by the shoulder, his other hand playing with Thranduil's long, cornsilk hair. He'd never met anyone with hair that looked so much like starlight and felt like silk.  
"That might have been the best first date I've ever had," Bard said, leaning down to give Thranduil a sweet, lingering kiss.  
Thranduil was elated, his heart feeling whole again. But happiness is a fleeting, fickle mistress, as he remembered that, as a rule, he would soon have to tell Bard of their shared past when the world was called Middle Earth.

No one could call the Elvenking a procrastinator. When he ruled over the Woodland Realm, it was with an iron fist, seeing everything done and seeing it done the moment it was asked. Dallying was not something Mirkwood Elves did. But he was now stalling the revelation process for Bard, afraid that his lover would think he was mad, therefore giving him up for a more normal boyfriend. A mortal.  
"You're a coward, Thranduil," Gandalf said when he explained his fears to the old Wizard.  
"I don't know why I don't keep you away from my personal space," Thranduil said, petulant. "You're of no help, Mithrandir. You never were."  
"Regardless of your opinions of me, I know I'm correct in saying that you must tell Bard of his past soon. He knows you're hiding something, and you will lose him if you're not honest." Gandalf stood up from Thranduil's pale, vine-patterned sofa. "If you want Bard, face your fears." And he was gone, just like that.  
Thranduil and Bard had just celebrated two months of blissful romance. They barely spent a day apart, but Bard was starting to notice things about his lover: his pointed ears, the fact that he barely slept and never seemed tired, and he slipped sometimes, mentioning that he had known Bard before, which Bard knew was impossible. Thranduil was keeping secrets, and he was starting to worry.  
Thranduil was reading a book on reincarnation one day when Bard let himself into his spacious flat with the key he'd been given.  
"You believe in that stuff?" Bard asked, cuddling up next to him. Thranduil closed the book and put his arms around Bard.  
"I do. Have you ever thought about it?" he asked. It was still odd, having a Bard who didn't remember his children, the Battle of the Five Armies, or Lake-Town.  
"Well, I don't know. Sometimes...no." Bard laughed to himself. "It's silly."  
"What is it?" Thranduil asked, placing a bookmark in the novel.  
Bard began to fidget, playing with his soft, dark hair. "You see...ever since I met you I've had these dreams. It's you and I, but it wasn't, really. There.were these...monsters. Arcs I think you called them. And your attorney was a Wizard. You..." He paused to laugh. "You were the King of Elves, and you rode this giant moose into war! I just thought that, imagine if that was my past life!"  
"Elk."  
Bard stopped laughing. "Pardon me?"  
Thranduil looked him straight in the eye and said, "It was an elk. And I am still the Elvenking, though I am the last of my race. The monsters were Orcs."  
Bard scooted to the edge of the sofa, studying Thranduil. Was his lover playing a joke on him, or was he insane? "What do you mean? Thranduil, do not play games with me. We're not children."  
"In your dreams, did you have three bairns? Two girls and a boy? Did you slay a dragon with a black arrow and become the King of Dale?" Thranduil's ethereal eyes stared right into Bard's soul as he remembered all of the previous Bard's accomplishments and attributes. "Your wife died in childbirth with your youngest. You used to retrieve barrels for wine from Mirkwood, my kingdom. You...you were my love for many years before mortality took you away from me." He reached out a hand to Bard's face, his touch as soft as a spring breeze.  
"You were Bard of Lake-Town, Bowman, Dragonslayer and King of Dale. You died in war. You loved me more than anyone ever did." He gripped Bard's hands in his. "And you have been reborn again, nin meleth."  
Bard had never heard those words or that language before, but he knew it meant "my love". Staring at Thranduil, wondering what was going on, if he was crazy or Thranduil was...it was too much. He swooned.  
When he opened his eyes, he saw Thranduil and that attorney, Mr. Grey, standing over him. But Thranduil was dressed as he had been in Bard's dreams, wearing a silver circlet around his pale head, and a long, silver robe with leaf patterns. His pointed ears were obvious, and he looked every bit like an Elvenking. Mr. Grey looked the same, except for a large wooden staff.  
"He's coming to," the old man said. "Really, Thranduil, you panic over the smallest things!"  
"It's not a small thing when I already watched him die once," Thranduil huffed. His cool hands caressed Bard's face. "Are you all right? Can you sit up?"  
Bard nodded and sat up straight, his head spinning a little. "You were telling me the truth, weren't you? About me living before, and you being... an Elf."  
Thranduil nodded.  
"And you never died? You've lived all these years...thousands of years alone? Waiting for me?" Bard grasped his white hands, caressing the silky skin. "And you, too, Mr. Grey?"  
Gandalf nodded. "You took a long time to come back, Mr. Lake. But I am glad to see you."  
"Why are you here?" Bard asked him.  
"Thranduil got worried when you fainted and asked me to come here and make sure you were okay." The old man stood up. "Now that you are...and you're more inclined to believe what Lord Thranduil has been telling you, I'll be taking my leave." In a flash, he was gone.  
Bard caressed Thranduil's face, his forehead, his eyebrows and his ears. "I remember now. You and I celebrated my coronation ceremony in your tent...alone. I loved you, as cold and cruel as you were back then. My kids loved you, too." His hands moved to Thranduil's hair, stroking gently. "I didn't realize what I was missing from my life till just now. I am here to love you. To bask in your love."  
Thranduil grabbed him roughly and brought him into a harsh kiss, a kiss he'd been longing for. "My Bowman," he muttered into his hair. "My sweet Bowman." He said a few phrases in Elvish, kissing ever available inch of skin he could.  
"I need to know everything. Everything that's happened since I died, things I might've forgotten from before," Bard said, kissing Thranduil between breaths. He felt himself getting hard, recalling how violently Thranduil used to make love to him in Mirkwood.  
Thranduil apparently was thinking the same thing. "Later. We have another lifetime to talk. Right now...I need you, Bard."  
I need you. Yes, he needed him. Wanted him. Desired him. This lifetime was to be TThranduil's first and last, and he didn't want to waste a second of it. He know understood why Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter, had chosen a mortal life to be with the one she loved.  
As he laid Bard on his mattress, he understood. Immortality was nothing if you couldn't spend it with the one you loved.


End file.
